


jumping waves for a spell

by whateverliesunsaid



Series: a crash course in human experiences [1]
Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fluff, Road Trips, Romance, i just wanted them to have a better go at those human experiences smeyer goes on and on about, post New Moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whateverliesunsaid/pseuds/whateverliesunsaid
Summary: “Do you mind giving me your shirt?” Bella asks, knowing that his white, long shirt would almost fit her like a dress— a very unattractive one at that— and thatmaybethey don’t have to cross every threshold today.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Series: a crash course in human experiences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112324
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	jumping waves for a spell

**Author's Note:**

> this comes in the legacy of little drabbles i write and dont even beta before i post because well, who cares, and is DECIDEDLY wish fulfillment, but mostly i just wanted them to have one good day, okay?

The sun rises but it can’t be seen beyond the slope of the horizon where the waves congregate just yet. Charlie left for an overnight fishing boat ride with his friends with the heavy weight of responsibility hanging over his head— a gloom that looked all too well like a parent who had watched enough movies to know that teenagers got in trouble when parents left the house;. And as if he didn’t want to offend her by even bringing it up.

In Charlie’s world, this was a catch 22 of the highest order, ever since Denny— his partner from the police station— loudly brought it up on the diner, he knew Bella wouldn’t let him off the hook. It was sink or swim in the Swan household— and so Charlie was shoved out the door that afternoon with a big smile from her end and a frown on his own.

It didn’t take long until Edward had rushed out from the back door to spin her into another of his dazzling kisses— didn’t take much of Bella’s coaxing for them to find themselves on a road trip of their own, either. All the way to a beach he had promised her they would go one day. Bella Swan never forgets a promise, is what the Cullen boy had learned the hard way.

*

They arrived late to point of earliness and had taken camp in the sand over a thick cover, a picnic bag full of delights she almost completely ignored at the sight of coffee appearing from the back of his car so swiftly she almost didn’t notice it at all. She sipped the last bit of coffee from the canteen’s attached mug and asked: “Do you wanna take a dive?”

“Are you sure?” He looks at her with mild concern but nothing too overt, nothing that would offend her (yet.) and she keeps her careless gaze trained on him while he speaks, trying her best to give off the impression of youthful recklessness. “It’s _very_ cold out there.”

“I _know_.” She hates it when he goes so many extra miles, as if she wasn’t the one who had traveled the world to rescue him only months prior. As if they hadn’t made a deal to have her experience everything normal people did before their time came. As if her time wasn’t already so short, all of a sudden, to his chagrin and her bliss. She reaches for the fringe of her sweater and stops, thinking it over before she continues: “Do you mind giving me your shirt?” Bella asks, knowing that his white, long shirt would almost fit her like a dress— a very unattractive one at that— and that _maybe_ they don’t have to cross every threshold today. He gives her a look that’s beyond puzzled. “What?”

“Sheer underwear.” she shrugs more nonchalantly than she feels and pulls her oversized coat off her shoulders, making a scene out of matching it against his, “I can give you my coat until the shirt dries out, if you want.” He almost laughs at that, as _if_ he would ever grow cold at all and mirth still colors his face when he replies:

“It’s okay.” and he pulls his shirt off his back, up in a swift motion past his hair. She takes off her clothes slowly, almost coyly as he pretends to watch the clouds— as if that is anything new to them, this closeness; though she can’t quite move past the feeling of utter vulnerability that overcomes her, how clearly he can see her now. When she takes off her own shirt, he stretches his hand with his white shirt and she notices he hasn’t been so unaware of her after all. She grins through tight lips, trying not to give the pretense away while she pulls the cloth over her hair with some difficulty. “Let’s go.”

She goes ahead, long strides taking her close to the shore where the waves lick at sand coldly, and then past them where the water rose to her shins, her knees, thighs, past where the shirt hid her ass, her waist, her chest. With a burst of courage, she drops to her knees, letting the water envelop her completely. She sits there with her eyes closed until her lungs start to crave air a bit too painfully, the underwater currents knocking her ever so slightly here and there. When she rises, pushing her hair off her face, he has his back turned on her, looking towards the first inklings of sunrise on the other way— if she didn’t know him better, she would think it was meant to look cool; but she understands his gentle manners now. He looked _unbelievably_ perfect then, his exposed back turned to her, a trail of moles she wanted to touch so bad it hurt. She noticed that that he was wet, too, all the way to his head, and skirts all self-consciousness to bring her hand up, “don’t move.” she warned him and noticed just how his breathing hitched and stopped in anticipation.

There wouldn’t be any real sunshine that day, in fact the clouds coming from the horizon looked deeply grey, almost blue— but when she dragged her fingertips against the marble of his skin, it shimmered discreetly, invitingly. She pressed her full hand against his back almost unconsciously of it while moving closer with the help of the tides, then pressing her face to where his defined shoulders created a slender triangle, her hands moving past his waist to meet each other in his front.

He was desperately cold and silent, no heartbeat or breath she could eavesdrop, but in that moment she wanted to be frozen entirely, be stuck in that moment forever, like a statue. Let everyone walk and swim around them, let the water erode their bodies a little bit every day until they’re gone completely so long as they’re together then, as dust in the air. This want, this desperate desire she had to be with him was so beyond human sometimes it scared her as she knew it did him. It was her fate to want him. There’s so many things they didn’t discuss anymore, lest they become all too real too fast but she presses herself tight into him as if she wishes she could listen to the secrets he buries into himself if only she could just tighten herself enough around his frame.

She doesn’t count the seconds, but she knows he is even if she isn’t the one who can read minds and she loosens her grip, taking a step back. “You can breath now.”

He turns to her more easily than she ever could in the tide that was growing stronger by the second. “Can I?” he asks, his voice raspy and low enough to conjure heat in the deep of her stomach as he surprises her, pulling her into his hold. He lifts her into his embrace by her thighs, so much more daring than he had ever allowed himself to be, _before_. She yelps at the motion and hides her face in his neck when she finds herself so close to his face, his intense gaze boring into her.

She’s surprised by how much he still smells like him while soaked in saltwater— by how much everything is all about him when he held her like that, her body a wonderland of reactions she couldn’t quite make sense of. “Should I?” he presses on dragging his nose into her head, pressing his lips into her temple as he lowers himself into the water so she’s surrounded again.

She lifts her own head then, conscious of the lift in the white shirt, of his hand in the small of back, how close they are— and she kisses his lips softly, pressing herself against him with her legs locked around his hips.

And then a wave breaks into them, shocking her out of the kiss even though they do not rock or fall, he stands as steadily as ever beneath her, shocked as she laughs and laughs.

*

Later, she sits on the front of his Volvo waiting for the mild excuse for sunshine to dry her off, she looks back to the driver’s seat where he’s shielded from it, studying the case of the road trip cd she had curated with her mom through many spontaneous vacations. His hair falling forward in newfound small curls, all copper and gold; she wonders if there is greater happiness out there than this sheen of salt stuck to her skin, the music she loves most and him.

_No, there can’t be_.


End file.
